


Wet and Wild

by fruitstripegum



Series: Waterslides and Curveballs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- All Human, Baseball Player Derek, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Human Derek, Meet-Cute, Short & Sweet, lifeguard!stiles, rescued from drowning, stiles wishes he had to perform CPR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitstripegum/pseuds/fruitstripegum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a lifeguard at a waterpark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet and Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I got this bug of an idea in my head during my lunch break and this is what came pouring out. Un-beta'd and posted pretty much right after I finished it.

Stiles enjoys summers, he really does. He likes being outside, likes soaking up the sunlight – hell, he even likes constantly smelling like Banana Boat sunscreen and chlorine from his job at Beacon County’s most popular summer attraction: Wet and Wild Waterpark. He’s worked at the park every summer since he was fourteen; he started as a park paparazzi, a job in which he was required to walk around the park all day in his bright pink polo and khaki shorts with a camera around his neck, asking everyone who passed by him if they’d like a picture to remember their Wet and Wild day. His dad would drop him off in the mornings and he would work half the day and hang out the rest.

 

After two summers of playing photographer, Stiles was sixteen and eligible to take the lifeguard certification course. When he’d passed, joking that he’d lost his first kiss to the CPR dummy, the park had hired him to guard the kiddie pools and man the exits to the water slides. For the past two years, as a respected college student and park veteran, Stiles had the opportunity to pick his rotations and had decided to guard the wave river and lazy beach. The river saw a ton of action and there were more guards to interact with as well as eye candy to look at. He was just doing his job, of course, keeping an eye on the park patrons to ensure everyone had a safe, enjoyable time.

 

“You’re up to switch,” Erica tells him as she approaches his stand near one side of the wave maker. She takes his post and red foam pool float with the word LIFEGUARD printed in bold white letters as he stands, stretches, and dives into the pool to swim to the opposite side of the wave maker to cool down. He’s following Boyd in the rotation today, who will head over to take a twenty minute break when Stiles relieves him of duty.

 

Stiles climbs up the ladder to the lifeguard stand, really just an elevated wooden chair with an umbrella and another pool float, and tells Boyd to have fun on his break. He sticks a hand in the pocket of his red swim trunks, feeling around for the tub of waterproof zinc sunscreen for a moment before he pulls it out and liberally reapplies some to his nose. He settles into the stand, eyes scanning for trouble automatically.

 

There’s a few kids getting a bit too close to the ropes that signal the no-swim zone. The wave machine creates an undertow that can be difficult to swim out of if you’re not a strong swimmer. Erica whistles a warning at them before Stiles has a chance. He surveys the crowd again, gaze sweeping before his eyes land on something he likes.

 

The guy is in the shallows, past Stiles patrol bubble, but even from a distance Stiles can tell he’s smoking hot. He’s lounging in one of the neon pink Wet and Wild toobs, on his back with his arms and legs sprawled out and relaxed around the inflatable pool float wearing dark grey board shorts. Stiles can appreciate his tan, muscular body as it bobs slightly in the shallows. He spends a moment too long taking in the sight of him – the moment is broken when Erica beeps out a second warning to the rowdy kids near the wave machine, accentuating her whistle by holding two fingers up: 2nd warning.

 

Stiles resumes his perusal of the pool area, whistling at troublemakers every so often but mostly just observing. He likes to make up little stories in his head about the park patrons. He imagines the teenage boy swimming away from a group of similarly aged boys toward a girl in a green string bikini was dared by his friends to ask her out. The older woman who has pulled a pool chair far enough into the tanning shelf that the water moves her slightly as she lays reclined is a former Miss America contestant who has aged gracefully. His eyes catch on Smoking Hot guy again, floating closer towards the middle of the river now. His head is relaxed, laying on the float as he drifts and the current could take him around the torrent river soon and out of Stiles’ sights.

 

Stiles’ eyes flit back to the guy often during the twenty-minute rotation. He’s steadily floated closer to the wave machine, but it looks completely unintentional; the guy looks like he might even be asleep, which Stiles envies right now – he would kill for a quick nap and thinks about trying to get one in during his break next rotation.

 

Erica walks around the upper wall when the time to rotate comes, foregoing the cooling refreshment of the pool water in favor of keeping her beautiful blonde hair from turning green. Isaac has taken over her post, the only other lifeguard that manages to stay as pale as Stiles does throughout the summers. Stiles starts to head to the break room when he gives one last glance at the hot guy: he’s now into the deeper part of the river. The depth is only about five feet when the wave machine is off, but with the waves the water can get over eight feet high.

 

He’s about to whistle at the kids from earlier about hanging on the rope when he notices one is missing. Just then, Hot Guy’s float is unceremoniously flipped by the missing troublemaker. The guy only has a split second to suck in a breath before he’s caught under a wave. Stiles watches with attention, waiting for the guy to resurface, wondering if he’s going to try to retaliate against the teen. Hot Guy’s head surfaces for a moment before he goes back under, and Stiles has only a moment’s hesitation to realize the guy is not a strong swimmer.

 

Stiles’ training kicks into gear as he grabs the LIFEGUARD foam float, tossing the rope over his left shoulder and under his right arm as he dive in to recue the guy. Stiles quickly swims to him before diving down under the water. He’s traveled under the rope and is stuck in the undertow. He grabs the guy under his armpits and pushes off from the bottom of the pool, kicking his legs to breach the surface. They both gasp for breath as Stiles grabs the foam float and man handles the guy’s arms over it, tucking it securely beneath his armpits as he tows him to the shallows.

 

“Hey man, what’s your name?” Stiles asks as they reach calmer waters. The guy is still sucking in lungfulls of air and his sharp cheekbones are flushed under the dark stubble that takes up a good portion of real estate on his face.

 

“Der—Derek,” the guy gasps out after a moment, his glass green eyes meeting Stiles’ own tawny ones.

 

“Well, Derek,” Stiles smiles at him, “today is your lucky day.”

 

Derek scoffs and motions back towards the wave machine. They can both stand in the shallow water that laps at their torsos now, but Stiles keeps a hand on his back as he guides him out of the water towards one of the picnic tables that line the artificial beach.

 

“I seriously doubt that,” he grumbles.

 

“Well then you would be very wrong indeed, my friend,” Stiles beams. He stops in front of one of the few empty tables – it’s a good one, partially shaded and not covered in sticky syrup from melted Shave Ices. “Grab a seat for a second, I’ll be right back.”

 

Stiles returns a moment later with two bottles of water and a large basket of cheese covered curly fries. He sits a little further down the table’s bench from Derek, straddling the wood as he faces him. He offers him one of the bottles of water and sets the curly fries between them.

 

“You’re welcome to some fries if you want them,” Stiles offers.

 

“You didn’t have to buy me food,” Derek murmurs, picking at the label of his bottle. “I’m not an invalid.”

 

“I didn’t think that at all,” Stiles tells him earnestly.

 

Derek continues to stare down at his bottle, picking at a corner of the label before peeling off as much soggy paper as he can, then starting over. Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Derek is tanned and toned with muscular arms and shoulders. He has a tattoo in the center of his shoulder blades, a thick, black design that curls as it goes. He’s got thick dark hair on his head, some more leading down from his navel, Stiles notices as well.

 

Stiles breaks out of the trance he fell into while perusing Derek’s body to a throat clearing – Derek’s throat, which is leads up to Derek’s face, which is currently staring at him questioningly, a smirk on his lips.

 

“Like what you see?” Derek asks.

 

“I- uh-“ Stiles stammers, “I was just checking you out – to see if you were alright, I mean.”

 

“Just embarrassed,” Derek assures him, “I’m not a very strong swimmer.”

 

“You’re obviously good at something with that body,” Stiles mumbles under his breath.

 

Derek laughs, a throaty thing. “I play baseball in the minor leagues,” he tells Stiles.

 

“Wow, really?” Stiles asks. “What farm system?”

 

“Oh, uh, the Dodgers.”

 

“That’s awesome, dude! I’m a die-hard Mets fan, but I’d play for any team if I was given the opportunity.”

 

“So what do you do when you’re not saving lives?” Derek asks him after a few moments of comfortable silence. He’s grabbed a cheesy curly fry and popped it into his mouth. Stiles has to focus to break his eyes away from Derek’s lips as he flicks his tongue out to catch a stray drop of melty cheese.

 

“Uh, I’m in school, studying forensic psychology.”

 

“Whoa, what got you interested in that?” Derek wonders, his green eyes piercing.

 

“My pops is in law enforcement,” Stiles informs him. “I grew up sneaking peeks at his case files and trying to figure out the mind behind the crime. I like puzzles, and figuring out what motivates someone to commit a crime and be a big help in figuring out whodunit.”

 

“That’s awesome,” Derek breathes. “When I went to college I majored in business finance. If the baseball thing doesn’t pan out, I’ve got an opportunity to go work at my father’s company pushing numbers.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like that’s what you want to do though,” Stiles guesses.

 

“It’s not,” Derek admits. “It would pay the bills, but I don’t think I’d be happy sitting behind a desk all day.”

 

“I can definitely relate to that!” Stiles laughs, motioning out to the park around them. “I’ve worked here for eight summers in a row. Yeah, I could find something that pays more or something, but I’m not filing mail or pushing papers around a desk. And I get o meet all sorts of interesting people, like minor league baseball players.”

 

“Meet many of us, do you?” Derek smirks.

 

“Nah, not really. You’re my first.”

 

Derek’s ears redden, Stiles thinks, but it could be the sun.

 

“I hate to break up what I’m sure has been a lively conversation,” Erica drawls behind them, a paper cut of Shave Ice in one hand, her phone in the other, “but your break’s up, Stiles, and you’ve got to go relieve Boyd.”

 

Stiles stands quickly, flustered and not quite sure how the time slipped away from him. He grabs his untouched water bottle as he pulls his leg out from where he’d straddled the bench and says, “It was great chatting with you, Derek, maybe I’ll collect your rookie card soon?”

 

Stiles flushes a deep crimson that has nothing to do with the heat, then turns to walk off to Boyd’s stand muttering under his breath about how much of a nerd he was – _great chatting with you?_ Really, _Stiles? And now he thinks you’re some weirdo card collecting fan now._

 

The rest of the shift passes slowly and uneventfully as he changes stands every twenty minutes. When the park closes at sundown he shuffles, worn out, to the employee lockers and retrieves his key from the lanyard around his ankle. Erica sidles up to him a few minutes later, she’s grabbed the locker next to his today.

 

“So,” she begins nonchalantly, “Derek.”

 

“What about him?” Stiles asks.

 

“Does he have a last name?” She wonders, pointer finger tapping her chin as she looks up.

 

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

 

“Because you didn’t want to know it or because you were so distracted making heart eyes at him to ask for anything that might allow you to stay in contact with him?” Stiles flushes slightly. “I’m going to go with door number two,” she tells him.

 

“What do you want me to say, Erica?” Stiles grouses. “That he’s hot like burning and all I want to do is lick his abs?”

 

“I’m sure that’s not _all_ you want to do,” she purrs.

 

“O _kay_ ,” he groans, “so maybe I want to do more than that, but it’s not just sexual. We had a good conversation and I’d want to get to know him better maybe, too.”

 

Erica smirks.

 

“But,” raises one finger, “One, I don’t even know if he’s interested in dudes; two, he travels like at least half the year, and three, if he gets called up to the Bigs, he could have his pick of any person he wants.”

 

“And what if he wants you?” she asks him.

 

“Then we’re back to the original dilemma: I don’t even know his last name to stalk him on social media.”

 

Erica fishes through her locker, her arm sinking to the shoulder as she feels around the metallic depths. She smiles – aha! – when she pulls her hand back in victory, her rhinestone encrusted cell phone clutched in her hand. She fiddles around on the touch screen for a moment before she turns the screen so that Stiles can see.

 

“What’s that?” Stile asks, looking at the string of digits.

 

“That,” Erica smiles, “is a cell phone number for one Derek Hale, pitcher for the Oklahoma City Dodgers.”

 

It takes all of Stiles’ will power to not snatch the phone out of her hands. She pulls back her hand slightly, imparting more wisdom.

 

“He’s twenty-six and he’s in town because his sister lives here. He’s here for the next three days while the team’s in between games. And he _is_ interested – in you.”

 

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Stiles begs, waving his hands at Erica’s phone like he can grab the number from the screen.

 

Erica sends off a quick text message and Stiles can hear his phone buzz in his locker. He pulls it out quickly and sees the text from Erica with Derek’s number and a short missive: _don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;) –E._

 

Stiles immediately saves the number and sends out a quick to Derek, _Hey it’s Stiles from the park._

Erica is laughing as she walks away, grabbing Boyd’s hand as they head towards the exit gates. A buzz a few moments later draws his attention back down to his phone in his hand, a goofy smile splitting his face when he looks down at the new text from Derek Hale.

_Hey (:_

**Author's Note:**

> All references to waterparks come from my experience going to Schlitterbahn as a kid. I've never been a lifeguard, so apologies if I've made some sort of glaring error in how lifeguarding works. 
> 
> I'm thinking about making this another short series- thoughts?
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
